


The Choice

by CallousHeartz



Series: How Time Decides [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: (well not like. a ton of blood but probably worth mentioning), Blood and Violence, First Meetings, Fist Fights, Gen, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:29:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallousHeartz/pseuds/CallousHeartz
Summary: “Do you have any idea who the fuck I am?”





	The Choice

Free.

Holes in his shirt and a blunt switchblade in his back pocket, breathing air which doesn't taste like pollution and corruption combined. 

It's still so new, all of it.

Sure, it's taken him 18 years to get here, but Ghoul - _and goddamn, that name fills him to the brim with pride_ \- knows he's found his way home. Home feels like hot sand under the scuffed soles of your trainers, dehydration that leaves a gross taste on your tongue, and sweat in the hair you haven't been nagged to comb for two weeks.

He doesn't know exactly how long he's been trudging through the sand, but he reckons it's been a couple of days since his feet reached his own level of boredom and just went numb.

He's made a vow to himself; he's not stopping until he has somewhere half-decent to do so.  
What qualifies as 'half-decent', Ghoul's figured out, is nowhere specific - anywhere he can sit down minus the risk of cactus spines in his arse is more than enough.

And if that means he has to settle for the roof of that banged up old car parked kind of diagonally on the roadside, then so be it.

99% of the time, he knows by now, a white car is a silent warning to stop in your tracks and turn the fuck back.  
Go anywhere but forward - unless, that is, a one-way ticket to Battery City with a Draculoid on either side of you (and, potentially, the bleach-white barrel of a gun to your temple) is what you're looking for.

But this white car is under new ownership, clear as day.  
The paintwork is the telltale sign - neon symbols on the doors, words scrawled like a lizard ran straight through the paint and printed them with its own feet, and the crowning glory; one big fucking spider with its legs splayed across the bonnet.

_Shit man, that's cool._

And with no one around - well, looks like this baby is Ghoul's until he summons up the motivation to get back on his feet and search for shelter.

He clambers onto the bonnet and stretches out, his arms resting on the windscreen behind his head.

 

Ghoul doesn't remember dozing off on the bonnet of that rusty old trans am - fuck knows how long he'd been there. 

All he's aware of is metal under his back one second and sand the next, along with a searing red pain in his jaw.

He blinks, pushing himself up onto his elbows with a wince - his spine really took the impact of that shove - and before his cracked lips can form the words "what the fuck?" he's been yanked onto his feet, a firm, inked arm around his throat and a gun pressed to the back of his skull.

"State ya fuckin' name," 

The rough hiss knocks the air from Ghoul's lungs almost as fast as the push did a few seconds prior. He grits his teeth and shoves back against his captor, his elbows digging into the person’s leather jacket. 

Bad decision - the arm around his throat only tightens, and his chin's pulled higher up. He tries to swallow, but it's a bit of a struggle.

"You gonna answer or not?" The voice drops to a dangerous whisper, and Ghoul feels the guy's hot breath grazing the shell of his ear.  
He squirms, trying with all he can to move his head a little further away, but to no avail. 

Instincts kicking in, Ghoul sends his heel back. It collides with the other guy's shin, and Ghoul digs it in hard and drags it down, hoping to graze his leg through his skinny jeans.  
He assumes it's worked - judging by the sharp breath the dude pulls in, underneath which he whispers " _motherfucker_ ," 

But Ghoul has no opportunity to make his escape - in what seems like a single swift movement, the guy shoves the blaster back into its holster, and before Ghoul can breathe the slightest sigh of relief, his back's pressed up against the door of the trans am, wrists pinned down on either side of his head. 

The captor's fingernails, a little overgrown and sharp as daggers, dig into the flesh; Ghoul can practically see the deep burgundy, crescent-shaped indents in his mind's eye.

"I believe ya didn't hear me the first time,"  
The man's pillarbox-red hair, sticky with grease and sweat, falls over his face and neck and sticks in strands to his pale skin and his leather-clad shoulders.  
He clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on Ghoul's wrists, nails sinking deeper. It takes everything Ghoul has not to cry out.  
"State ya fuckin' name,"

The red-haired guy tosses his head a little, and most of the hair covering his face tumbles back.

He's young and smug-looking with vindictive eyes, framed by traces of dark, smudged liner and void of anything other than fury - blazing, white hot fury - and the bitterest spite.

When Ghoul responds, he does so quietly, a smirk playing on his mouth.

"No," His composure only stirs up more anger in the guy; Ghoul can see it filling those malicious eyes, and it makes him want to laugh.  
“How about you introduce yourself first, _fucker?_ "

Red-Hair pulls back his fist right as Ghoul's forehead crashes into his top teeth.

He stumbles back momentarily, cupping his mouth as blood drips between his bony fingers, but he quickly lunges forward, grabbing Ghoul by his T-shirt collar.

"I'm givin' ya a choice now, shitbag," He spits - quite literally, Ghoul grimaces as the spray of blood and saliva hits his face - "You step the hell away from _my_ car, and swear I won't have t'see ya fuckin' face again  - or we keep this goin' a little longer. In which case, you better pray to the Witch ya get outta this in one p- "

He's cut off as Ghoul forces him to the ground with a fist to the throat and leans over him, pushing his arms down into the hot sand as he swallows hard and winces a little at the pain.

In all honesty, the car's far from the forefront of Ghoul's mind; this bright-haired fuckface has chosen the wrong dude to pick a fight with, and Ghoul will be damned if he's not the one to finish it.

He's made his choice.

Red-Hair senses this - he shoves Ghoul off, lip curled in disgust, and stands up, dusting himself down and leaving Ghoul on the ground with a look of surprise - and amusement - on his face.

Clearly, this guy's not willing to put his pride at risk.

"I made my choice," Ghoul taunts. He raises his palms in surrender, "You gonna stick to your word or not?"

The guy just narrows his eyes, fists clenched under fingerless leather gloves, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

"Fuckin' coward," Ghoul spits, leaning in a little and grinning from ear to ear.

Red-Hair folds his arms and lifts his chin, disdain still written all over his face.

"Ya like a challenge, huh?" He mutters.

"And you wish you knew how that felt." Ghoul retorts.

"Don't try me."  
The guy's losing the anger-fuelled passion in his tone.  
Now it's just plain cold.

"I don't plan on wasting my time,"

For the first time, Ghoul sees the guy smile.  
It's a genuine smile, no doubt about it. Because it’s a cruel, conceited little smirk.

"I wouldn't tamper with my luck if I were you, motherfucker," He drawls. 

Ghoul almost replies; tells him how it's no surprise, because that would take some degree of courage at least.  
But he doesn't.  
He waits for him to finish, mainly because it's just too fucking funny.

Red-Hair takes a step forward and bends down to look Ghoul in the eye.

"Do you have any idea who the fuck I am?"

Ghoul does laugh now; a short laugh, more of a snort than anything.

"Sure I do... _Poison._ "

Poison almost forgets to hide his surprise - it's taken over by rage again a second later, but Ghoul grabs his wrist as it lunges towards his shoulder. He grips it tightly, victory flaring up inside him as he sees the conflict in Poison's entitled face.

"The infamous leader of the infamous Killjoys. Count yourself lucky you got a reputation. Didn't expect much better from you,"

Poison yanks his wrist free, and Ghoul lets him.

Ghoul stands up, smirking down at Poison and his look of furious disbelief.

"Hey - the blood on your hand sorta matches your hair. It's cool,"

He turns around once more before he heads off,

"Enjoy your car, asshole."


End file.
